


Family II

by truedi



Series: Fictober 2019 [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Bandaging, Depression, Drinking, F/M, Fictober 2019, Life is hard, PTSD, Suicide, Trust Issues, Wounds, certain people just wish to die, gun shot wounds, hinting at self harming, no sexual stuff, nothing graphic though, some tension?, we just comfort each other here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 16:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truedi/pseuds/truedi
Summary: Second part of "Family": Bucky and Natasha made their one-time nightly drinking into a routine. They both feel they need it and find comfort in each other. Bucky tries to take further steps in their new relationship.





	Family II

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 8: Can you stay?
> 
> Another mess. Here you go. I just have a lot of emotions about this pairing in this context right now so let me have this, please. Far from perfect but satisfies my cravings.

Sam would be furious. Bucky knew. He was leaning against a destroyed car that had been flung off the highway. Behind him he could hear the gang members flee. He touched his side. There was blood but he could barely feel it. He did not feel too dizzy, so Bucky assumed he had not been struck badly. 

Cautiously, he peeked around the car’s rear end and when he found the streets empty, he rose and shouldered his rifle. His earpiece activated itself. 

“Barnes? Are you there?” Sam’s voice sounded factual. 

“Yeah, they are gone,” he huffed. Silence for a second. 

“Next time you run off like that I’m gon’ give you a fucking beating, man.” 

“I know.” 

Sam attempted to give him a beating when he saw that Bucky got himself shot. It was the third time within the past two weeks. So far, he had been lucky it had not been severe wounds. His healing was still top notch so that the bullet was usually pushed out by the flesh within days.  
While Bucky agreed that he had been reckless, he also felt that it was no big deal. Gangs had formed in the aftermath of the wipeout. Now that the people were back, they would not give up their ways and continued to raid the cities they lived in for valuables, money, food and sometimes human lives.  
Apart from the usual crimes, these guys were a pain in the ass. They halted progress in the cities. The team had offered several bosses rewards if they would disintegrate but for them it was a living they had gotten used to in the 5 years half the population was gone. 

This mission was a failure. No matter how reckless, Bucky never seemed to give enough to capture the targets lately. It was a string of mishaps and bad luck the past weeks. He did not talk about it with Sam. After all, that guy was technically his boss now. Although, Sam always insisted they were partners. But the media had not yet caught on. Everywhere they went, they spoke of the new Captain America, Steve Rogers’ successor. And by his side: ex-convict Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier who “found his way back to justice and law” by learning from Sam Wilson, an American veteran. 

He knew it was childish. He fought for the right reasons. They did not need to accept him. But he hoped they would one day. He wanted to make right by his past. 

It was late Friday evening, when he was done putting away his gear, clean and tidy, and ran his fingers through his hair. It was short now. Sam and he both got haircuts before starting their mission. He was not sure if his partner was actually balding to always get a full shave or if it was just his style. To keep it simple, Bucky had stuck to a simple military cut. Hoping he would appear more American because of it. It was unfamiliar but less to take care of. Now, it felt freeing. It made him a new man, he thought. 

It was quiet in the Avenger’s Tower. He would worry if it would not be. Everyone had fallen into a routine. During the afternoon, everyone usually rushed off to their own rooms and apartments to keep to themselves. Despite efforts, the relationships between them were deteriorating when they did not have to work together. It was a lonely life for the most part. 

The elevator took him to his floor and Bucky allowed himself to drift off with his thoughts in the quiet for a few seconds. His therapists had recommended him to try meditation, maybe yoga but Bucky simple did not have the time. He told himself. He knew how to breathe, he did it all the time. Sometimes slower, sometimes quicker. It was not like it would kill him in the unforeseen future. He barely showed signs of aging and he doubted he would get arthritis anytime soon so why do extra sports. His mind was fine. A few bumps here and there but nothing he had not managed. The only distraction he had time for was a good whiskey in silence before bed. Not even TV. He was too tired for that. All the time. His thoughts, however, were enough. Maybe someone else’s thoughts when he felt particularly open for socializing. Maybe he would have company tonight. 

After his first night with Natasha a couple of weeks ago, they had kept up this little tradition of theirs. Occasionally, she would join him for drinks. She was the only one where his mind would not wander off when she spoke her thoughts. It was not like they spoke a lot, but if they did, he felt it had meaning. He realized she was scarred. Even by him though he could not remember this mission at all no matter how often he had tried to regain this specific memory. He had apologized nonetheless of course. He was not a complete asshole. 

The elevator dinged and he mindlessly entered his code and finger scan to get into his apartment. One look on his watch told him that he had time to shower before she would come. If she would come. He liked that she had made it into a routine. It made him feel a little less threatening that she would voluntarily return to enjoy his company. She never arrived on the clock but always a little after eight. 

Natasha arrived quarter past. He opened the door without a word, and she stepped in without a word. She nodded at him though. Bucky went over to the counter. After their second meeting, it was unexpected which was why he had not been prepared, he had bought Gin. And some wine. Natasha would sometimes bring dinner. Take-away usually, but one time it had been home-cooked, and Bucky had felt how embarrassed she was. He did not mention it. It had been his first home-cooked meal in a long while. 

“I see the mission went well,” she said upon the sight of the plaster bandage on his side. 

“Just barely scraped the ribs,” he answered drily and handed her a glass. It would be healed by morning. 

As usual they sat on his couch facing the window. His living room was illuminated by the city lights just like, as he had gotten to know from Natasha, was everyone’s. He had never been in anyone else’s apartment. Natasha had never offered to hold their drinking night at her place, and he suspected she did not want to. It was okay for him. She was welcome anytime If she wanted to. 

“It seems like you get shot quite regularly, Barnes. Losing skill?” 

Bucky could not help but hang on to the fact that she still called him by his last name. Every night. Admittedly, he had not offered her anything else yet and he could not bring himself to expose his feelings like that. Maybe they were stupid emotions - not at all true. They met to drink. They weren’t friends. But she was the closest to being called a friend if Bucky would have courage. He wanted to confide in someone. Wanted to confide in her… If she would let him. Despite the time he had spent with her the past nights though, she was too hard to read to be trusted fully. 

“Meh,” Bucky replied, “pretty much the opposite. More skill, more danger. Putting your life on the line successfully is a skill.” 

“Successfully as in getting yourself killed?” Natasha chuckled. She was aware of his behavior since Sam had called Bucky out during one of the team meetings. She was aware that it did not stem from courage but recklessness. The best way to kill yourself was to let someone else do it. 

“You’re overreacting. Like Sam.” 

“Am I now?” 

The drank in silence. Bucky tried to think of something to say. A joke…a defense? Natasha beat him to it. It was almost ten.

“It’s fine. I get it. I…understand, I guess.” She blew out some air as if to ease the sensitivity of the topic. Bucky downed his class and poured in more immediately. By now, he always left the bottles on the table. 

As usual, they sat in silence for a while before moving on to another topic. When the clock struck midnight, Natasha took one last sip straight from the bottle and rose. Bucky’s stomach tightened. He hoped the feeling was mutual. It was better for him not to know because he knew he would beat himself up over it if he knew it was not. He would feel even more pathetic. Then he might just let himself be shot in the open on the next mission. He had never wished more for Steve’s advice. Oddly, that punk always had some. Bucky watched Natasha as she put her glass on the bar counter as every night. Watched her look out one last time over the New York skyline as every night. His stomach was unusually tight tonight. He felt his leg shaking. The impending loneliness crept into his clothes and made him feel cold. For only one night he did not want to be freezing. 

“Can you stay?”, he asked with a hushed tone. If she was freaked out, Natasha surely did not show it. He merely noticed that her face did not change in any way. She blinked towards the skyline. It certainly told him that she was startled and careful to make her next move. He felt like a threat again as he hoped she would not take this too personal. Maybe he could say it was a half-hearted joke. Maybe he needed her to stay to finish the bottle. It was so little left. What a waste! 

Without a word, she came back over and sat next to him. Closer than usual. 

“It’s no use getting attached, Barnes. You know we can die any moment,” she finally said. Bucky turned and looked at her. Her expression was considerate but distant. 

“You can call me Bucky –“ 

“Barnes, please – “ 

“Call me Bucky.” 

He offered her his hand as if they had just met for the first time. He tried to smile. It looked more like a grimace in Natasha’s opinion, but she appreciated it. She shot him a smile in return. 

“Natasha,” she answered and took his hand, “Let us compromise and use our first names.” 

Bucky nodded. He could be okay with that. He understood that it might take a long time for anyone to call him “Bucky” again. Sometimes he dreamt of that moment. It was a sort of intimacy he would strive for with others. And when this future came, he would never stop offering that name to any one he would meet. Everyone would call him Bucky. 

“Can you stay…Natasha?” 

“Another hour can’t hurt. Sure, James.” 

He loved how his name sounded when it was spoken back to him in another context than meetings and missions. She said it differently than when Sam slipped and did it. It was another thing to look forward to every night. He visibly relaxed and sank back into the sofa. 

“But you have to promise me,” Natasha said, “to not put your life on the line too much in the field. Otherwise, this is not worth it.” 

Bucky nodded again. Natasha could not help but notice how tired he looked now. She appreciated that he had become vulnerable like this first. She doubted she could have done it. Inspired, she scooted over to the over end of the couch and signaled him to lie down. Bucky was not sure if she was mocking him, but he followed her demand and laid his head into her lap. He had never felt lighter, safer… more saved. She stroked his hair while he dozed off. They both knew they would never mention this as soon as the night was over. They never mentioned anything they discussed during those nights. Natasha would leave before Bucky woke up, and they would go about their day as if they had never switched to first names like exchanging secrete promises in the dark.


End file.
